schrodinger's cat (it doesn't mean i love you)
by madworlds
Summary: Barista Carmilla. Featuring Laura and Danny and a grudge that should really have been let go a while ago, honestly. / Hollstein.


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The bell connected to the door jingles as it creaks open, but that's not an unusual thing to happen on a weekday lunchtime, and Carmilla doesn't pay much attention to it. She's occupied cleaning the coffee machine, which isn't the greatest task, but it beats actually physically interacting with customers. It means she gets to ignore her shift partner too, and they haven't gotten on well since Carmilla accidentally-on-purpose called her a _lesser_ _known cousin of the BFG_ , which, well, she hadn't known the girl was an _employee._ But the whole avoiding her through cleaning thing is working out fine until the door opens and Danny practically slams the cash register shut.

"Alright there, Xena?" she asks absently, running the cloth up into a crack collecting dust in the side of the machine.

Danny's reply is garbled, rushed out as she hurries over and ducks round the back of Carmilla. "Yeah. I'm great, actually." She plucks the soap bottle off the bench. "Fantastic. We're switching now!"

"Excuse me?" They have a lot of shifts together, and there is technically an agreement to spend half the time on register each to balance the workload, but usually it gets sidelined because Carmilla is _not the best candidate to publicly represent this company_ and also something about _yeah, you kinda do make the best coffee, Dracula, but don't take it personally_.

"We're _switching,_ Karnstein." She shoots an apprehensive glance towards the counter, then pastes on a reassuring grin that's just a little too cheerful to serve its purpose. "Register's ready and waiting for you."

Carmilla is not reassured, but she puts down the cloth, dries her hands quickly against her pants — they're leather, which may or may not be against company regulation, but, well, she hasn't been called out on them yet — and moves over to the front counter just in time to come face to face with what she can only describe as the dictionary definition of a frat boy — that or possibly _unnatural disaster,_ and honestly, it's really a good thing she keeps her mouth shut while serving.

"Hey!" he says brightly, and she sighs softly as his gaze flicks from her chest to her face and back again, then over to the coffee machine where Danny is trying — and failing — stay inconspicuous. Her height and bright shock of red hair are hindering her in this ever so slightly, but it's suddenly plain why she'd wanted the switch, and Carmilla suppresses a sigh at the thought.

"What can I get you today?" Her tone is about as close to polite as it'll ever get when there are frat-boys — or, okay, any boys — involved, so she'll count it as a win.

He manages to finish ordering without any further incidents occurring, but as she scribbles the order down, her ponytail falling over the side of her face and, she supposes, obscuring her name badge, he amends himself. "Oh, wait, Carm—sexy, get Lawrence to write Kirsch on the cup, yeah?" He ignores the thunderous expression Carmilla can't prevent from overtaking her features at the nickname, still staring at the oblivious Danny. "I mean, she's served me enough, she should know it … but she gets it wrong all the time. So in case she forgets, you know?"

Truthfully, there are many varied things that Carmilla would like to say to this, none of which are even remotely polite. But this guy is a customer, and she's already been warned by her manager about the whole thing of calling those Danny probably-offensive nicknames, which included — but weren't limited to, because she is _creative,_ dammit — _Clifford_ and _fire hydrant._ And she really does _need_ this job, so she bites down on her tongue, hard, and cursing herself inwardly for forgetting to ask his name in the first place, she manages a sharp nod. Kirsch moves away from the counter, and she relays the request to Danny, who rolls her eyes before flat-out refusing and making Carmilla write the name instead. Which Kirsch is probably definitely going to notice and complain about to all his frat-buddies, possibly in a place where her manager may overhear. Great.

Honestly, someone should give her a medal for the crap she puts up with during the lunch hour rush.

The next customer to come in is Lola Perry. They attended the same university, had classes together, even lived in the same building for a while; naturally, Carmilla studiously forgets this the entire time she's taking the order. She does tell Danny that the name for the cup is _June Cleaver,_ though, mostly for kicks, and the other girl actually starts writing it before comprehension inevitably dawns on her. She has to cover it in three layers of sharpie before it becomes unreadable, and Carmilla counts it as a win.

There's a lull, then, as lunch breaks end and customers start to gather their things and leave. Danny goes back to cleaning the coffee machine, and Carmilla doodles absently on her notepad, almost — _almost_ —tempted to help her out. The familiar sound of the bell rings out, but she assumes it's just another person exiting and doesn't look up until she hears a quiet cough from in front of her.

"Hey?"

Carmilla looks up and raises an eyebrow mostly out of instinct. The girl in front of her runs a hand through her loose hair, flashing a quick glance up over Carmilla's head where the shop's prices are displayed. She has on jeans and a button-down shirt and one side of her collar's sticking up a little. She's the kind of cute Carmilla doesn't deal in usually, because she's not the committing sort of type. But this girl's eyes are over her shoulder more than on Carmilla, which is unusual. These sort of girls may not be her type exactly, but she can normally manage to at least hold their _attention._ "What can I get you today?" she asks, fixing on a smile she generally doesn't bother using while she's serving.

The girl smiles back awkwardly. "I — sorry, do you know if Danny's working today?"

Carmilla shoots a glance over her shoulder to where her coworker should be, but Danny has apparently decided it's a good time to take a bathroom break. "She is, yeah. On a … break now though." She turns back mid sentence. "Need me to get her for you?"

"No, it's okay. I've got a train to catch, anyway," the girl explains. "Could you tell her I was here, though? When she gets back?"

Carmilla shrugs. "Sure." And that's when it hits her. This is that girl, the one Danny talks about to Mel when the three of them are working together, the one Carmilla has made snide passing comments about and staunchly refused to believe in for goodness knows how long. She's _real._ "So," she says, picking her pen up off the bench and lifting an eyebrow only slightly suggestively. "You're dating Lawrence, huh?"

The girl flushes pink. "I — no. Unless — two dates doesn't count as dating, I don't think." It's phrased like a statement but sounds like a question, and she honestly can't resist.

"Depends what you've done, cutie." Carmilla smirks and waits, notepad readied, but no further comment seems to be forthcoming, and she suppresses a sigh. The nickname was perhaps a bad touch. "Are you ready to order?"

"Oh," she says. "Right, yeah, sorry." She ends up going with a soy latte, which, well. Carmilla could have picked that from the shirt.

"What's your name?"

The girl turns back, forehead creasing in a frown. "Wait, what?"

"I was asking if you had a _name,_ cupcake," and there is a firm rule against flirting while working, but the shop is empty and Danny's used the lull as an opportunity to take a bathroom break.

The girl smiles. "You know it's only us in here, right?"

"Don't need to sound so happy about it, sweetheart." Carmilla regrets this the moment it comes out of her mouth, but it seems to work. The girl pauses, pushing a strand of honey-gold hair behind her ear and sighing when it promptly falls straight out again.

"It's Laura," she says.

Which, okay, but Danny's still not back, and Carmilla's in control of both the coffee machine and the sharpie. And while she's forbidden to use a different name from the one given for the cup, it takes only a couple of seconds for her to add a row of numbers and a _call me, cutie_ underneath the printed _Laura._ It's worth a shot, right?

She is _so_ losing this job.

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 **A/N: Do not ask me how Carmilla was ever hired as a barista because I honestly don't know either. Also this is so bad that I actually may have to continue it? idek tbh.**


End file.
